


Unexpected Consequences

by bees_stories



Series: The New Team Torchwood Adventures [8]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Alien Invasion, Case Fic, Multi, Torchwood One, medical drama, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood One shut down a plot to take over the world. Forty years later, Torchwood Three finds out they may have missed a loose end or two. It's a major test of their abilities, and a case that has unintended consequences that strike too close to home.<br/>Beta by nancybrown, with thanks!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

***

"Ianto? Where's Jack?" Gwen looked around the office, peering into corners and less than discretely down the manhole, as if she expected to see him pop up at the sound of her voice. 

He looked up from the pile of schedules, proposals and other documents he was ordering into neat stacks, and shrugged. "Dunno? Can I help?"

Gwen seemed taken aback. She also seemed to think he was lying. "What do you mean, you don't know where he is. You're his secretary, it's your job to know where he is." 

"That's true," Ianto admitted. "During his scheduled working hours. Jack booked off this morning at six o'clock. That means barring emergencies, his time is his."

"But you're also his boyfriend!" 

Ianto raised an eyebrow at that. "Do you know where Rhys is at every minute of the day?"

"Well … no." Gwen pushed a hand through her fringe as if temporarily stumped. "But that's different."

"How exactly?" Ianto put the last of the papers aside. He composed his face into patient lines and looked up at Gwen. "As you so clearly pointed out, I am Jack's secretary, and his boyfriend, but in neither one of those capacities am I his designated keeper. Jack needs time to himself just like everyone else around here does. What he does during that time is strictly his business." He glanced pointedly at his watch. "Now, is there something I can do to help? A message you'd like to leave, perhaps?"

"Yeah. I want to know why your team got the Cardigan job." She rounded on Ianto and put both hands on the desk, leaning across it. "Your Scots seem to be getting all the plum jobs lately." 

_His Scots_ had been tasked with four delicate and highly dangerous infiltration and assessment assignments that had required extensive planning and preparation since they had settled permanently in Cardiff. The Cardigan job, as Gwen so crudely put it, was going to require them to break into a level four security installation, steal a Roduction fuel core that if mishandled could level several square miles, and get it back to Cardiff without being detected. 

"They're specialists doing the work they're trained for, Gwen. I don't understand why you're so upset."

Gwen levelled her gaze at him, as if daring Ianto to argue further. "There's been too many changes around here lately, Ianto. I know Jack said we needed to rebuild and move on, but I'm not sure I like it. I'm not sure I like what this place is becoming at all." 

She turned on her heel and stalked out the door. Ianto sat back in Jack's chair and watched her go, perplexed at what had brought on such a outburst. He filed it away to worry about later as he picked up a stack of time sensitive letters Jack had signed and sealed but neglected to carry upstairs for mailing, and shut off the lights. It was supposed to be his day off too, and secretarial emergencies aside, he had every intention of putting Torchwood and its problems behind him as soon as he pulled out of the car park.

***

"You fly like a fighter pilot. Clock many hours?" 

Jack shrugged and banked the Bombardier BD-700 Global Express sharply in the other direction. He really liked the responsiveness of the yoke under his hands. It had been way too long since he'd done any serious flying, but it really was a bit like that old saw about riding a bicycle. Thirty seconds after his butt hit leather, he felt like he'd never left. But this test flight was just the warm up. If he could carve a few more hours of quiet out of his schedule, there was a slick little planet hopper down in the hanger that was dangerously close to being spaceworthy. He and Mark needed to install a few more parts and then Jack had every intention of busting free of the ionosphere, if only for a little while.

"I put in my fair share. I really appreciate you taking time out of your schedule, Lawrence. I will buy the flight simulators we talked about, but I'm afraid that this little sweetheart is gonna have to go back to the barn." 

"If it's financing," Lawrence said, obviously unwilling to let a hefty commission slip through his fingers, "I'm sure we can work something out." 

Jack shook his head and nosed the jet back towards Cardiff. "Nah. Money is easy. There are other complications. But this is definitely going on my short list of capital expenditures for the next budget session." 

First he had to figure out a good place to house the plane. The Hub wouldn't quite cut it. Cardiff Airport had too many restrictions to get around, and the local military base was right out of the question. They needed to get their backup Hub in place before they could worry about toys like the Bombardier.

Jack also needed to train up a couple more of his people as pilots. Ianto, Mark and Andy could all handle the boats. Ianto could also drive most heavy equipment, as could Dev and Felicity, but none of his agents could fly, at least not yet. And they needed pilots. Jack had every intention of getting some of the derelict spacecraft back into fighting shape, but they wouldn't do anyone any good if there was no one to take them up. 

"I'll be happy to facilitate, any way I can," Lawrence pressed. 

Jack nodded absently, his attention fully on the landing instructions the tower was relaying. He cut back on the throttle and set the approach vector. He was already dreaming of when he could get back into the cockpit as he started his descent. 

A powerful blast of static roared through their radio causing Jack to wince as he hastily muted the volume.

"What the devil was that?" Lawrence rubbed at his ears, and then very gingerly repositioned his headset.

Jack scanned the skies around them, but saw nothing unusual. "I don't know." Very carefully, he turned the radio back up, but the channel was clear again. 

It was a burst of static, he told himself as he made a slight course correction. Probably nothing more worrisome then a solar flare, there had been a prediction that they might be more troublesome than usual. But he had trouble shaking off the feeling that there was more to it as Lawrence suggested they stop in at the flight club and review the details of the sales contract for the simulator modules over lunch.

***

Ianto glanced around Mrs Johnson's flat and found everything reasonably tidy. The visits had been part of his routine, when he could manage, ever since the attack on Cardiff when his neighbours had found it in themselves to pull together in a way he no longer thought possible. 

"Are you sure I can't help?" he called into the kitchen. 

Mrs Johnson insisted on feeding him whenever he visited. She did a lemon slice that put bakery bought to shame, and since she regarded Ianto as a surrogate nephew, there were always treats to take home. 

"No, pet, give me two ticks. The kettle's just gone." 

He took his seat on the faded velour settee and glanced with half interest at the collection of books and magazines on the end table. There was a copy of Be a Better You marked in the middle with a strip of lace. Ianto grimaced. Self-help groups had been popping up like mushrooms after a rain in the wake of Cardiff's rebuilding efforts, although the SCE seemed to lead the pack with the punters.

They weren't Torchwood's concern, and he was much too busy with his own affairs to take an interest, so Ianto ignored them. But now, as he opened the book that was currently taking Cardiff by storm and studied their logo, something at the back of his brain pinged in an uncomfortable manner. 

There was something familiar about the twinned pair of triangles, one inverted over the other, and both embedded in a circle, and the four lines that extended outward like the rays of the sun. He had seen it before, though where, he couldn't quite pinpoint. That annoyed him on a purely professional level. Ianto had trained himself to retain information automatically, although he found under the onslaught of the recent months, recalling it to be more of a challenge. 

The sound of tea cups rattling on a tray caught his attention and he set the book aside as Mrs Johnson entered. 

The radio, tuned to BBC 4 and droning its way through a chat show, dissolved into a loud burst of static. Startled by the abrupt noise, Mrs Johnson tipped the tray dangerously and Ianto rushed to her aid. The book, and the troubling logo of its publisher, were temporarily forgotten as Ianto saved the carpet from a flood of Earl Grey.

***

Mark frowned as he reviewed data from the anomaly capture file. The static burst had temporarily disrupted communications all over the greater Cardiff area, yet he could not trace it to its source.

He had definitely ruled out solar flares or other cosmic noises. That made the signal terrestrial, and as far as he could determine, local. A signal of that magnitude was worrying, but he didn't have enough data to send a team out to investigate. All he could reasonably do was log the event time and details, and set a protocol in the system to trip if it ever happened again. 

He made the necessary modifications and sat back in his chair. Other than Jack, Myfanwy, and the medical team, he pretty much had the main body of the Hub to himself now that the others had relocated to the cube farm above, or the refurbished offices and labs below.

Mark liked the quiet, and didn't mind the slightly tatty Victorian ambiance. In truth, he found the old fashioned surroundings welcoming. Perhaps it was Toshiko's presence that he sometimes imagined. One of Mark's regrets was he had accepted the offer to join Torchwood too late to collaborate with her properly. 

Sometimes, when he saw echoes of their necessarily oblique discussions in the legacy of mathematical notations she had left behind, the sense of missed opportunity became overwhelming. When those moods took him, Mark hoped Toshiko would be pleased that her lines of enquiry were still being pursued by someone who shared her passion for exploring the mysteries of the universe through hard science.

Realising he was wasting energy on maudlin thoughts, Mark pulled up Jack's list of tabled research projects and began to compile the necessary resources he would need to bring the work to fruition.

***

The visit with Mrs Johnson concluded Ianto's list of domestic chores and the end of a productive morning. He was meant to meet Jack later for a harbour cruise, but until then he was free as a bird. He decided an afternoon in the sunshine would do him no harm, tucked some of Mrs Johnson's chocolate biscuits into his packed lunch, and drove down to the marina. 

Boats, even boats infrequently used, required constant care. Jack was diligent enough about engine maintenance and looking to the bits under the waterline, but he tended to let the brightwork dull and the decks go unpolished. Ianto sought to kill two birds with one stone, getting the _One Day at a Time_ back into nick whilst leaving his mind free to rummage through its back corridors.

Despite a recent spate of wet weather, it was a fine, sunny day, not too cool and not too breezy. Ianto stripped away his tee shirt as he did a quick inventory of chores and decided that the deck needed his attention first. He got out his bucket and brushes and went to work.

***

Jack was feeling pretty pleased with life as he pulled into the marina. He'd had a productive morning, and now he was ready to relax. A few hours out on the water followed by a leisurely dinner and a night in would be just the ticket to cap off a perfect day. 

As he regarded the _One Day at a Time_ he could see signs of Ianto's industry. Even at a distance the old girl seemed much more tidy than it had the last time he'd been by. He climbed the gangplank and called out, "Ianto?" 

One of the deck hands from the _Sally_ , glanced up from where he toiled repairing a fishing net. "If you're looking for the young feller, he's come and gone again." 

Jack frowned. "That's odd," he said to himself. "How long ago?"

"Just missed him. No more than quarter hour. Tore out of here like a scalded cat." 

"Thanks!" Jack retrieved his mobile and checked it for messages, but found nothing. His wrist strap hadn't pinged a Rift alert, but that didn't mean that there wasn't something going on at the Hub. Realising he was probably winding himself up over nothing – Ianto had probably run short of sunblock or some other small necessity and wanted to top up before they headed out onto the water – Jack took a poke around the boat, checked that his repair to the bilge pump was holding fast, and settled in to wait.

***

Ianto was on a ladder, reaching for a dust covered box, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Jack's boots clumping down the stacks. His voice, when he called out, sounded perplexed. "Ianto?" 

Ianto closed his eyes and swore under his breath. In his excitement at finally making the connection, he'd forgotten that his main reason for heading down to the _One Day_ was he and Jack had a date. "Up here, Jack. One aisle over and about halfway down." 

"You had a paperwork emergency?" Jack sounded more than a little hurt as he regarded Ianto from the foot of the ladder. He offered a steadying hand anyway as Ianto descended. 

"I'm so sorry." He skipped the last rung and winced as his left foot hit the floor with a thump. "I should have called or written a note. But it hit me like a lightning bolt." 

"Hold up." Jack plucked the file folder out of his hands and frowned. "The Society for Creative Enlightenment? What did they do forty years ago that was worth breaking our plans for today?" 

"I'm not sure." Ianto looked down at his hands. They were grimy and coated with dust from searching the seldom accessed paper files. He tipped his head towards the exit. "Let's go to my office and find out." 

"You remember Mrs Johnson," Ianto said as he poured coffee. Jack had sprawled in the leather armchair reserved for guests, still determined to maintain his off the clock frame of mind. Ianto felt contrite. He was the one who had encouraged Jack to take more down time, and though it wasn't his intention, he was about to spoil their day off with work.

"Lady over the road with the light pawed pooch?" Jack nodded. "Today was your day to check in on her, right?"

Ianto grimaced as he sipped from his mug. The new blend of beans didn't live up to their hype at all. "Right. And among her books I saw one with this symbol on it." He pointed at the mark used by the SCE. "I knew it from somewhere, but I couldn't place it. It didn't strike me as important, just irksome that I couldn't recall, and I meant to put the matter aside until tomorrow." He shrugged. "I was repairing that dent in the deck where Andy dropped the tool case, when it came to me." 

"So you made like a bat for your cave?" 

Ianto tried not to scowl at Jack's attempt at wit. "I'd glanced at a booklet on spiritual societies and alien symbolism one of my predecessors had compiled whilst I was renovating this office. Some of the conclusions seemed a bit of a stretch, but this one had documentation to back it up." He pointed at the stack of yellowing folders on his desk. "Torchwood case files." 

Jack's expression shifted, his eyes narrowed and his mouth took on a more serious line as he set aside his coffee and extended an open palm. Ianto handed over the incident reports and watched as Jack rapidly scanned them. "Damn." He handed them back to Ianto. "Did you read these as you pulled them?" 

Ianto shook his head. "Was I right? Is there cause for concern?" 

Jack scrubbed at his temple. It was clear from his gloomy expression that his earlier good mood had evaporated. "Oh yeah. Get Gwen and Mark up to the conference room and dig your bloodhound out of his lair, we're going to need him on this. Once we're all assembled I'll lay it out for you."

***

Simon didn't often leave his office once he arrived on base. It wasn't that he didn't like being around other people, it was more a matter of once he got his head into one of his research projects, he often found himself so fascinated that time got away from him, and soon the day did as well. 

Simon's job was to read. Specifications, engineering white papers, scientific journals, popular tabloids, it didn’t really matter. When he took the information he'd absorbed and compared it against the advancements made in private industry and in government laboratories, it gave him an uncanny insight into which developments were likely spawned from good old fashioned human innovation, and which were nudged along with a little help from what they euphemistically termed "outside sources". 

He wasn't sure why the captain had requested his presence at the briefing, but he supposed he'd find out soon enough. Gwen Cooper had just strolled in and taken her seat, eyeing the other men in the room with interest.

She curtly acknowledged his greeting, but that was probably because she was still discomfited over their first and only encounter when she'd mistaken him for a twelve year old boy. It'd been twenty years since Simon's twelfth birthday, and he'd long got over being embarrassed over his slight stature and slender build, but he had no control over the reactions of others. 

"I thought you two were off."

The way she said it was a bit familiar in Simon's estimation, more the way pals spoke rather than an employee to a boss, or even workplace colleagues. But the bustling environment of an expanding Torchwood Three bore little resemblance to the solitude he'd enjoyed at Torchwood Two, where weeks would go by between visits from his team-mates, and even a look in by Archie was a rare event. 

"Something came up," the captain replied. "Let me tell you a little story about an outfit called the SCE."

"The _Open your mind, find your potential_ people?" Gwen interjected. "What have they to do with anything?"  
Simon frowned, turned to a fresh page in his notepad, and jotted down the name. He'd heard the SCE mentioned on morning chat shows, and seen the best-selling book prominently listed at his favourite shop, but placed the group low on his "to research" list. Self-help groups were common as muck in troubled times, and Cardiff had gone through more than its share. 

The captain became momentarily petulant, but the expression disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. "Actually, let me turn this around." He leaned forward and glanced at them one at a time. When it was his turn, Simon was regarded with a close inspection. "Sharp suit, Simon. Did Ianto hook you up with his tailor?" 

He felt a blush heating his cheeks under the captain's frank gaze. "Aye, sir. It's a wee pleasure not having to shop in the _young gentlemen's_ department." 

Gwen looked away. The captain seemed on the verge of saying something further, but Ianto cleared his throat and diverted his attention. 

"Right. Let's start with an alien race called the Dra'switch. On the balance the Dra'switch are an honourable race. They operate by a strict code of conduct, and those that fail to obey their rules are punished severely."

Gwen shrugged. "Lovely. That makes a change. But what's it to do with us?"

The captain gave her a knowing smile. "Ah," he said, "but I'm just getting started. The Dra'switch are a race of slave traders. They prefer to think of themselves as being – " The captain frowned. "Can an alien race be humanitarian?" he asked the room at large. "Anyway, they think of themselves as being kinder than the average slavers who attack a planet and then sell whatever portion of the population survives to the highest bidder."

Gwen was about to break in again, when the captain held up his hand signalling for patience. "They make a point to ask permission before they move in and start their operations." 

"What?" Gwen's eyes and lips both went quite round. Simon found her reaction absolutely fascinating, and he set down his pen. 

The captain shrugged. "They think it's fair play. Anyway, to get back to what I was saying, not only are the Dra'switch ethical, in their own fashion, they're picky about the type of races they enslave. They want their merchandise to have a certain level of technical competence." 

"And these Dra'switch are here, sniffing around?" Gwen said. She looked ready to bolt from the table and give the nearest alien a piece of her mind.

"That's what we need to find out. Which brings us to the second part of our story and the SCE, or as they used to be known before their re-branding, The Society for Creative Enlightenment. Their roots go back to the 1920s. Those years after the Great War were rough. So many young men had been lost. Sons, and husbands, and fathers."

The captain seemed a bit misty for a moment, and then his expression visibly hardened as he pulled himself back to the present. 

"As you know, the outpouring of grief coalesced into the spiritualist movement. Their bereft families sought some kind of hope that their loved ones had moved on or found peace, or maybe were still keeping a guiding hand on the people they'd left behind." 

"Arthur Conan Doyle was involved heavily, I seem to recall," Simon ventured. "And Harry Houdini." 

Gwen looked at him as if she'd forgotten he was sitting there. Ianto rose unobtrusively, poured the captain a glass of water, and sat down again. The captain's hard expression softened for a moment as he acknowledged the kindness, and Simon's contribution to the discussion, before he continued his explanation.

"London was the hotbed for these groups in the UK, although Cardiff certainly had its share as well. Agents were kept busy checking out the more legitimate-seeming mediums and prophets to make sure no aliens were giving them an inside track." He turned to Gwen and Ianto. "You've seen what some of the Rift artefacts can do when it comes to dredging up ghosts." He took another sip of water. "But somehow, this bunch slipped under the radar until the Age of Aquarius came roaring in." 

The captain sat back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling for a few seconds. "If you think about it, there were quite a few similarities between the two eras. People were in a seeking mood, willing to admit the possibility that there was more out there than met the eye. Technology was in the process of changing rapidly. Despite the wars and civil unrest, humanity thought it was on the verge of a golden age, which made them vulnerable because for everyone who embraces change there's ten who accept it's coming, but they want someone to hold their hand and make it less scary."

"Which is where the SCE comes in?" Ianto asked.

"Yep." The captain nodded. "See what Torchwood didn't know was back when the Dra'switch initially made contact in the '20s, they left behind a test. A sort of a puzzle, that if solved correctly would send a signal. It took the Society's inner circle over fifty years to crack the code and interpret the instructions. Luckily, Torchwood London got wind of what was going on. They thought, even though they lost the Dra'switch's calling card during the raid, they'd put a kibosh on the whole scheme. But it appears they didn't do enough. Because now the Society for Creative Enlightenment is back, and they're bigger and bolder than ever."

"The SCE has been peddling their message for months, Jack." Gwen pinned him with a look that said she wanted answers. "If they pose this sort of threat, why didn't you do something about them earlier?"

"I haven't been involved in every alien conspiracy that's come down the pike. Their chequered past was news to me too." He sounded defensive and a little hurt, and Simon watched as Ianto's eyes narrowed at the implied rebuke. 

A moment later, the incident had passed. The captain seemed to find his train of thought again and pushed a stack of old file folders across the table. "Simon, I want you to dig and find every scrap of information you can on these people. Start with these. Gwen, according to the files, the last time they were active they worked a multilevel scheme: public seminars to cultivate an open and receptive attitude and raise cash, plus workshops to recruit individuals that would be useful to their quest to solve the puzzle."

Gwen tapped her pen thoughtfully on the tabletop. "Why now, Jack? Why do they think they can succeed this time?" 

The captain shrugged. "That's for you to find out."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

***

Gwen settled at her desk. It had taken time to get used to the posh surroundings of the new office space but now, as she opened a browser window and entered a keyword search on the SCE, she felt like a proper department head with her staff of investigators working around her. 

The task Jack had given her was the sort of routine enquiry she might have handed off to Andy or one of the other less experienced agents, under other circumstances. But the talk of ethical slavers made her blood boil, and the notion that they were going to dupe innocent people who only wanted to fulfil their potential into a life of servitude through a manipulation... Well, it just wouldn't happen on her watch. 

She considered the background Jack had given during the briefing as she read the greeting on the SCE's home page and then scrolled through the rest of the website. Her problem was finding someone from the SCE they could coerce into revealing their scheme before they brought the Dra'switch slave ships down on their collective heads. 

These Dra'switch were playing a long game, planting their puzzle box and exploiting other planets while they waited for the one on Earth to be opened. The simple solution was to shut down the SCE as quickly as possible. But if they did manage to signal the Dra'switch, then Gwen would make sure that she was right at the front leading the unwelcome party.

***

Jack reviewed his options. He'd sent Ianto home earlier with a kiss and a promise to meet later for supper, but now he was stuck at the Hub in boss mode, and quite frankly, there wasn't that much for him to do now that he had employees to handle the legwork. 

He rose from his desk and looked down on the body of the main Hub. It was empty, save for Mark, who was sitting at his desk and scowling at his computer as if it had failed him. 

"Two birds," Jack said. He strolled out of the office with a spring in his step. "Mark! Whatever you're working on, forget it. Go grab a pair of coveralls. I need an extra pair of hands down in the hanger."

"Right, boss." 

With one last scowl at the computer, Mark pulled a baseball cap out of his drawer and stuck it on backwards over his ponytail. He gave Jack a tired smile. "Think we'll find the glitch in the stabilisers this time?" 

Jack cuffed Mark's shoulder in return. They were so close. If only they had a few more 23rd century tools at their disposal, it would be a cakewalk, but 21st century technology and their own brains would have to do. "Yeah. But you might want to let Dev know you're going to be late if you had plans." 

Mark shook his head as they entered the mouth of the tunnel. "She and Felicity were going to gang up on that mate of theirs. See if he's up to Torchwood standards." 

Jack wondered if they'd ever stop recruiting now that they'd started. It seemed that bringing Simon and his colleagues from Torchwood Two – Bess, Lucas, Mara and Alf, and their Scottish souvenir from the Strathclyde CID (as Gwen referred to Stuart when he was out of earshot) – had opened a floodgate. With the five new officers they'd recruited outright from the local emergency services and the ten they'd co-opted on a more informal basis, plus support staff to help out with various administrative tasks, Torchwood was starting to remind him of the old days. 

They had an ongoing talent search for science specialists who were willing to have their eyes opened, but their most critical position to fill in the short term was another field medic who was willing to multi-task. 

"I wonder if he's a pilot?" Jack murmured as he pressed the button and the lift began its descent.

***

There was a tap at the door. Ianto stuffed the magazine he'd been studying with considerable interest under the sofa cushion, and was forced to remind himself as he answered he was no longer fifteen, and what he read in the privacy of his own home was no one's business but his own. 

It didn't stop him from blushing clear to the tips of his ears when he glanced through the peep hole and saw Mrs Johnson. She was very neatly turned out in a trim lilac wool suit that exactly matched the tint in her hair. And she held a slightly tattered newspaper in the hand that wasn't poised to knock again.

"Ianto, dear." She thrust the newspaper at him. "I'm afraid Milo has been a cheeky monkey again." 

Milo was Mrs Johnson's felonious terrier. He routinely pilfered Ianto's newspaper, but only on Tuesday.

Ianto accepted the slightly gnawed paper and set it on the side table. "You look especially fetching. Are you going for a hen night?" 

That earned him a playful swat on the arm. "Silly boy, I'm going to my lecture. Mrs Parkhurst is giving a motivational talk." 

"Mrs Parkhurst? Of the SCE?" She'd penned the book he'd seen in Mrs Johnson's flat.

"That's right." Mrs Johnson pointed at her head. "Mrs Parkhurst agrees that it's good for the brain to keep learning. It stops you from going soft." A frown crumpled her mouth as she consulted her wristwatch. "I need to be getting along. My taxi will be here in a few minutes."

Seized by sudden inspiration, Ianto said, "Don't bother, Mrs Johnson, I'll drive you."

She seemed undecided for a moment and then beamed up at him. "You're sure it's not a bother?" 

Ianto glanced at his casual attire and decided it would do. He took up his keys and flipped off the lights. 

He handed Mrs Johnson into the passenger side of his Audi just as a taxi negotiated the turning on to their street. Ianto jogged forward and met it at the kerb. He gave the driver a five pound note and sent her on her way.

"Was the driver too fussed?" Mrs Johnson asked as Ianto got behind the wheel.

"Not in the least," he assured her as he started the engine. "Now, tell me where we're off to tonight."

***

Finding the SCE wasn't difficult. Gwen stood in the middle of a popular bookshop and watched as people greeted one another on their way to an area normally used for author guest appearances and book signings. She fumed at the audacity of the organisers, and was more than half tempted to go to the management and shut the meeting down on whatever flimsy excuse she could summon. 

But Jack had said this bunch was only window dressing. The real brains behind the outfit were higher up, and probably not likely to parade around in public. If she were to find out who their real opponents were she was going to have to probe deeper, and there was only one way she knew of to do that. 

Gwen pushed away from her vantage point and went to find a seat.

***

There was a good turnout for the lecture. Ianto watched as leaflet-wielding attendees like Mrs Johnson were joined by curiosity seekers from among the bookshop patrons. The crowd began to murmur as a woman, no longer young but still youthful, came out of a back hallway and approached the lectern. Though she was dressed in a long flowing outfit, she avoided most of the Earth Mother tropes. She was fit and keen, rather than matronly and mellow. Her silver hair was cut in a stylish shoulder-length cap and neatly pinned back behind her ears. On closer inspection, she wasn't wearing a caftan or shift, but a tunic over a floor-length skirt cut from the same ivory-coloured cloth. She drew every pair of eyes in the room as she warmly greeted the assembly.

The lecture itself was much as Ianto anticipated. It started with a question to engage the audience and draw them in, and then proceeded to use a blend of various motivational speaking techniques to keep them there. Ianto felt himself leaning forward in his chair. He knew he was being manipulated, having used the same methods himself to sway others, and reflexively invoked anti-measures drilled into him during his Torchwood One orientation. 

The message itself was part self-actualisation and part New Age mysticism. Mrs Parkhurst urged her listeners to open themselves up to the wonders of the universe in their quest to be the best they could be. He listened analytically, though he was careful to keep the same rapt expression as the rest of the audience. At the end of the lecture, he applauded just as enthusiastically. 

"Isn't she wonderful?" Mrs Johnson said, breathlessly. 

Ianto had almost forgot his elderly neighbour was sitting at his side. "Yes," he agreed. "She certainly is." 

The last thing Mrs Parkhurst had done was pitch a _Be Your Best You_ event at the weekend. A queue for registration had formed and was already starting to snake out of the meeting area. 

"Have you been to one of these before?" Ianto asked. 

Mrs Johnson nodded. "I went to something very similar in London. But that was years ago." She made a move towards the queue. "But as Mrs Parkhurst says, you're never too old to be a better you." She gave Ianto a determined look. "I'm going to go." 

Ianto got in line behind her.

***

Gwen listened to the first five minutes of the lecture and decided she'd heard enough. The lady leading the meeting, Mrs Parkhurst, was a good speaker, she'd give her that. But her pitch sounded like the sort of thing her mother occasionally got keen on. 

Gwen didn't have to imagine a better her. She liked who she was just fine, thank you very much. She tuned out the speaker's words and watched the crowd lap up the lecture instead, nodding along, muttering affirmations, and occasionally bursting into spontaneous rounds of applause at what she supposed were especially profound declarations by Mrs Parkhurst. 

The lecture finally ended. Gwen was glad of that. She could murder a coffee and wanted to get to the little kiosk before the crowd descended, but she paused and frowned as she saw Ianto join the queue for the Society's weekend event at the Millennium Centre. "What's he playing at?" she muttered. 

The queue began to snake towards her. Gwen had a choice: she could either join it, or get out of its way. She stepped into line, forced a smile, and wondered just what she was letting herself in for.

***

Jack's stomach growled as he flopped onto the sofa, television remote control in hand. He'd had a successful rest of the day, all things considered. The repairs to the 'hopper were complete, and they finally had a spaceworthy ship. Or at least they would when its power cells had finished charging. He couldn't wait to take it out for a test spin. 

But until that time, he was ready to relax. His stomach grumbled again and after thumbing the remote and bringing the telly to life, he shoved off the sofa with the intention of raiding the Chinese takeaway. Ianto wouldn't notice a missing egg roll or a few fried dumplings, and if he did it was his own fault for not being home when they'd agreed to meet. 

Lights from an approaching car briefly illuminated the lounge window. Jack paused, egg roll in hand, and looked out onto the street as Ianto's car pulled up to the kerb opposite. He watched as very solicitously, Ianto handed Mrs Johnson out of the car, and like the gentleman he was, escorted her to her doorstep. 

They chatted for a few minutes. Ianto pointed at Jack's car. Mrs Johnson said something in reply that caused him to duck his head. Jack took that as his cue. He shoved the forgotten egg roll into his mouth and returned to the kitchen where he began to load a plate with food. 

He waited long enough for Ianto to move his car into its customary space, walk the short distance up the garden path, and slot his key in the door before pressing the start button on the microwave. He leaned against the worktop and feigned a put out expression as Ianto entered. 

"That's twice you've stood me up today. Did Mrs J finally seduce you with her jam tarts?" 

"Jack." 

Ianto looked appropriately apologetic as he dropped his keys and a book on the entryway table and crossed into the kitchen. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realise we would be this late. There was a meeting of the Society tonight. Mrs Johnson wanted to attend and I talked her into letting me tag along." 

Work was about to put a damper on his plans again, Jack could feel it. The chime sounded on the microwave. He handed over a plate of reheated food and said, "You better tell me all about it." 

Ianto contemplated the plate for a second and then handed it back. "You start. I need to do something first." 

He hurried down the hallway to the guest room that mostly served as his home office. 

Plate in hand, Jack followed and watched as Ianto dropped into the chair in front of the desk, brought his computer out of hibernation, and then launched a link to the Hub's mainframe. Once the connection was live, he took his mobile out of his jacket pocket, found and uncoiled a cable, plugged one end into the USB port and then other into his phone, and then pressed a sequence of buttons.

"What's that?" 

Jack still had the plate of cooling food in his hand. Ianto reached up, plucked a prawn dumpling off the plate and stuck it into his mouth. He chewed, his expression blissful, and Jack was tempted to continue to feed him just to see the look remain and make him forget all about the Society and whatever it was they were getting up to. 

"I recorded the audio portion of the lecture," Ianto said as he leaned forward and launched another program. 

"Why are you hacking the bookshop's security cameras?" 

Ianto ignored him as he trawled the network, found his way in and began to work backwards through the captured footage. He frowned at the quality of the display, but fed it into the mainframe, and then opened a third window and sent their Watch Desk a brief email. 

"There. Now we can eat. And I'll explain."

***

It felt good to finally be home, Gwen thought as she dropped her keys and bag on her desk. The copy of Be a Better You was still in her hand as Rhys entered. 

"Save the world again at the expense of my lasagna?" 

He only sounded mildly put out, for which she was grateful. Rhys was a good provider. He did what he could to accommodate her hectic schedule and made sure she got a hot meal at the end of the day, but his patience did occasionally wear thin. 

"Sorry, love." Gwen rushed forward and kissed his cheek. 

Rhys looked down at the book still clutched in her hand. "What's this? Peace offering?" His eyes lit in recognition. "Be a Better You? Oh! That's a smashing read. But we've already got a copy."

"Have we?" 

Rhys went to the coffee table. He picked up an identical hardback, this one marked with a slip of paper about a quarter of the way through. "I picked it up after some of the lads at the shop recommended it. Said it changed their lives. I was thinking of having them 'round for one of the motivational seminars." 

Gwen felt her mouth's downturn and Rhys' expression became aghast. "Don't tell me. It's some kind of alien conspiracy." 

She pulled the book out of his hands and then set both copies down on the desk. "We're investigating." 

"Which is a 'yes' then," he said flatly. "Can you tell me about it?" 

Gwen dropped her gaze. They didn't have all the facts, but what they did know was enough to make her feel ill. "Just keep them away from your lads until we get this sorted." 

She turned her back on Rhys signalling the end of the conversation and went into their tiny kitchen. In the fridge, neatly wrapped in cling film, was a slightly overdone portion of lasagna. As she popped it into the microwave, Gwen wondered how she was going to tell Rhys about her unexpected weekend plans.

***

"Thanks for bringing me in on this," Max said as they gathered around the conference room table the next morning. "It's always a real treat to watch a master at work." 

Ianto watched as Jack tried to cover a cringe with a yawn and wondered, not for the first time, which aspect of this case was hitting so close to home. Jack's faux-yawn was authentic enough that he was forced to stifle a genuine one of his own, and he reached for his coffee as Gwen asked, "How do you mean?"

"That was quite a bravura performance Mrs Parkhurst gave last night. I was only watching a computer reconstruction and I still nearly found myself swept away with the audience." Max ducked his head and gave them an abashed smile. "It was all I could do to keep from applauding at the conclusion of her remarks. I've never seen such deft use of NLP."

"NLP?" Gwen tilted her head in a questioning pose for a second and then clasped her hand against her brow. "Oh, God. Not that again." 

"Sorry?" He took a deep breath and Ianto could almost see his mental train backing up. Max was a gifted propagandist, and Ianto had to admit that the creativity he put into their cover stories put the rest of their efforts to shame, but he tended to get a bit wound up when it came to talking about his craft.

"When we get a moment," Ianto said softly. "I'll show you the case file on former operative Suzie Costello. She was a bit of an expert on NLP."

Gwen studied her coffee mug for a long moment and then took a deep breath and let it out again. It seemed she was still affected by her unpleasant memories, but was trying very hard to pretend that she wasn't.

"So neuro-linguistic programming. It's been around for ages even before they put a name to the technique back in the '70s," she said as if reciting from rote memory. "You couldn't sell breakfast cereal or second hand cars without it, or convince people the aliens that landed in their front gardens are really Uni kids having a laugh." She paused again and then looked up from the table. "So that's why all those people were acting like a bunch of trained seals." 

"She was good. Mrs Parkhurst, I mean." Ianto glanced at Gwen as he clarified which 'she' he meant. "I've been conditioned to resist its influence, standard practice at Torchwood One, but even I felt myself start to yield my will." 

"Hypnotic induction," Max said. He put a video sequence up on the display. "Watch the way she gestures towards the audience and then beckons them in to her. Couple that with her use of the words 'inclusion', 'acceptance' and 'contentment'. She's talking about negative life practices in her introduction, but using positive words. Now add in the inflection of her voice. Did you find yourself becoming calm and relaxed, yet energised at the same time?"

Ianto nodded. "That was my first clue something wasn't quite right." 

"Wait a minute," Gwen protested. "I was there too. I didn't notice any of this." 

"What were you doing?" Max took advantage of the break to take a hearty bite of his bacon sandwich. Jack had called him in as soon as the computer had finished the reconstruction, and he'd been up most of the night analysing the lecture. 

Gwen shrugged. "Watching the crowd, mostly. I didn't see a point to listening to a bunch of mumbo jumbo about loving my inner child." 

"You're lucky," Max said as he swallowed. "Or you might have ended up shelling out for a copy of Mrs Parkhurst's book or this weekend's Love Yourself Fest." There was a decided twinkle in his eye as he said the last. 

Gwen dipped her gaze to the table and then looked up again. "Everyone else in the room was doing it, and I wanted to investigate further." She shot a sharp look at Ianto. "If you weren't under Mrs Parkhurst's influence, why did you sign up?" 

Ianto shrugged back. "My elderly neighbour wanted to go, and I decided it might be a good idea to keep an eye on her." He glanced over at Jack and observed his closed expression. He hadn't been keen when Ianto had revealed his intentions to attend the SCE event, but he had to concede that taking advantage of the opportunity was the right thing to do.

"We have to crack this thing anyway we can," Jack said. "Now come on, Max, tell us what else you've learned from watching Mrs Parkhurst."

***

"What do you know about Barrington Rhys-Mitchell?" Simon asked some time later as he settled in the chair Ianto offered and made himself comfortable.

Ianto frowned. He forwarded the medical portion of the Flat Holm supply request to Felicity, then spun his chair away from his desk and towards his guest as he tried to place the name.

"Not a lot. He's from an old family. He's got more money than God. You used to see his name in the news quite a bit, but then he bought into the Y2K panic hook, line, and sinker, and when that didn't happen, he went quiet. Why?" 

Simon handed over a thick file folder. "He also suffered a profound loss when his wife and daughter died in a car crash in January '99. He was at the wheel, and blamed himself, despite the fact witnesses said there was nothing he could have done differently." He gestured at the folder. "There's a copy of the accident report, witness statements and medical findings on the other driver. He was well over the limit." 

He seemed to realise he was over-reporting and gave Ianto an apologetic smile. "In summary, his world ended the day his Merc slammed into a tree, and he got it into his head that for everyone else, it was just a matter of time."

"I guess I don't follow," Ianto said. "Rhys-Mitchell is a fatalist. It's sad, but how is that relevant to the current situation?" 

"Before Y2K, Rhys-Mitchell became an outspoken critic of the world governments who he felt were sending us on a spiralling path to perdition. He'd given up his faith in humanity to come together in a crisis and suggested heavily that we should look outward for salvation, and before you ask, he wasn't talking about putting faith in God." 

Ianto frowned. "Are you suggesting he's mixed up with the Society crowd?" 

Simon nodded and passed over another folder. "Aye. Up to his neck. They've used his estate Burning Hollow on more than one occasion for special workshops and retreats."

"Interesting." 

"It gets even more so," Simon said. "When I looked deeper into his background I found another connection. In his university years, he was an adherent to the London circle of the SCE. He was among those debriefed by our operatives before being sent on his way." 

Ianto frowned again, parsing the significant emphasis Simon had put on the word 'debriefed'. He thumbed rapidly to a yellowed file at the back of the folder and began to read. "He was retconned." 

"Aye. And even so, he's found his way back to the Society."

"Simon, do something for me." Ianto's expression was both thoughtful and grim as he regarded his guest. "Check up on the other debriefed Society members. If they're starting to converge on Cardiff, this may be even more complicated than we thought."

"What are you thinking? Some kind of deep trigger the retcon might have missed?" 

"Yeah. Maybe. Memory remapping is as much art as science." Ianto gave Simon an unhappy look. "There's something about this situation that just isn't adding up."

***

Gwen didn't have a plan exactly as she dodged puddles of dirty water, pulled her coat collar more tightly around her throat, and marched resolutely towards the SCE's high street recruiting office. She just knew they were short on time and if they waited until the weekend it might be too late to stave off an alien invasion. A little direct approach might yield valuable information, something they were short of. What they did have was plenty of speculation and theory, and all of it was troubling. 

She barely had a chance to look around the room before a beaming woman radiating an unhealthy amount of enthusiasm, rose from behind a desk. "Isn't it a wonderful day?" 

Gwen smiled back at her in a somewhat less enthused manner. "Yes, lovely," she replied whilst thinking, "If you don't mind bucketing rain."

Wanting to get the interview over as quickly as possible, she wiped her hand against her trouser leg to dry it and looked around the tidy office. It struck her a bit odd. Though the Society had been at the location for months, there was an air of impermanence about the place. Maybe it was the small number of books and other promotional material on display, or the sparseness of the furnishings, but the office gave her the impression it could be packed up in a matter of minutes. "I was at your talk the other night. Very motivating. I even signed up for the weekend. But, and I know you'll understand," she paused. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name." 

"Margo," the woman supplied. 

"Margo." Gwen smiled at her enthusiastically. "I'm so eager to get started! I read the book, cover to cover. And I was wondering, are there any other resources I could pick up that would tell me more about the program?" 

The woman beamed at her with even greater intensity. "Of course." She cocked her head curiously. "Sorry, have we met? You look so familiar." 

Gwen shrugged and feigned nonchalance as she studied the woman's moon-shaped face in return. "No, I don't think so. I just have one of those faces. Everyone thinks I'm their sister's flatmate or their cousin's old girlfriend. Bit of a bother, really." 

Margo frowned a moment longer and then seemed to make a mental association that satisfied her. "There are some CDs that you might enjoy. Let me get you a set." She contemplated the paltry offerings on a revolving display and finally selected two of them. "That should keep you. Now you don't want to listen in your car. You want a nice quiet room and a relaxed mind to get the full impact." 

"Thank you." Gwen studied the CDs for a moment, found nothing outwardly useful, and tucked them into her bag as more seekers entered the office. They were followed a moment later by a man who went straight through to the back. Margo waved a greeting and started to move away.

Gwen laid a hand against the other woman's forearm, stalling her escape. "I can see you're busy, Margo, but I don't suppose there's anyone else I could speak to. It's my husband, you see, he doesn't hold much with self improvement. Finds it all a bit airy-fairy, silly man."

"No, sorry, it's just me at the moment," she replied, ignoring the fact Gwen couldn't have missed her associate. "Perhaps you could get him to listen to the lectures with you. They're very enlightening. Very reassuring." 

Margo seemed anxious to be rid of her. Gwen found that curious, but she smiled a goodbye before ducking back out into the rain. Her thoughts were preoccupied by the encounter. She reached for her mobile, eager to report her experience to Jack, and stepped off the kerb. She never saw the delivery van that rounded the corner too quickly and despite slamming on its brakes, sent her hurtling against the tarmac.

To be concluded...


	3. Chapter 3

***

The office was filled with the sounds of quiet industry. Papers shuffled, keyboards were tapped upon, and ever so often there was a murmured comment as someone revealed yet another facet to the Society. 

Andy had one ear on the Emergency Services channel. Some cult might threaten the welfare of the planet, but the Rift seldom made allowances for crises. He'd already dispatched a team to Penarth to trap an alien pest that was tearing up people's back gardens, and the morning was just getting properly started. 

A 999 call came over the band requesting an ambulance and traffic investigators. Pedestrian and vehicle. It sounded like a messy one. Sad, but no longer his problem. He was about to rise and go find a coffee when the responding constable said, "Someone better notify Torchwood. The victim is Gwen Cooper." 

Andy fell back heavily against his chair, stunned. He stared at the speaker for a second, and then reached for the phone. He needed a confirmation, and he needed it five minutes ago.

With trembling hands, he dialled an inside line to the Emergency Services dispatch office and reeled off his Torchwood ident code. He listened, feeling increasingly numb, as the horrible news was verified. Muttering his thanks, Andy hung up and dropped his head to his hands. 

"Andy?" 

He looked up. Ianto was standing over him with a look of concern. Andy wasn't even sure what he was doing there, but Ianto was like that. He had an uncanny way of showing up when you least expected him. 

"There's been an accident. It's Gwen." Andy blinked back tears. He brushed at his eyes, but they trickled down his cheeks anyway. "Ianto. It's not good."

***

"What happened?" Jack demanded.

Rhys looked up. He'd been contemplating the lino with his head in his hands, wondering how the hell he was going to survive if Gwen didn't. 

"Van." It was hard to even speak the word. "Poor bastard tried to stop, but she walked out right in front of him." 

"How bad?" 

What right did Jack _Bloody_ Harkness have to insist Rhys report like he was one of his lackeys? For the first time in ages he felt angry at the man for no other reason than the mere fact he existed. When he didn't reply immediately, Jack turned to a tall blonde woman with short cropped hair.

"Felicity, go talk to the doctors. Do what you can to help." 

The woman moved away at a quickstep. Jack dipped his head and held his hand to his ear. "Andy. What have you learned?" He listened for a few moments. "No. You've seen the CCTV. Damn. No. You're sure? Okay. I'll let you know." 

Jack reached forward and touched his arm. Rhys jerked free and glowered. 

"Whatever you're thinking, Rhys, this isn't down to us."

"Bullshit!" It felt good to be angry and he could think of no better target than the man standing in front of him. "She was only there because of you, Jack. Investigating those Society people. Head in the clouds. Probably excited about something she'd learned. Like a bloody terrier she is when she's excited." Rhys shoved off the chair onto his feet and poked a finger at Jack's chest. "You find out what had her attention, Jack! You investigate! That poor bastard in the delivery van might have hit her, but when _ever_ something happens to Gwen it _always_ is down to you!"

Jack actually looked ashamed and Rhys had a grim moment of satisfaction as the other man turned on his heel and stalked away.

***

Felicity had seen her share of traumatic injury. Time in a war zone had left her inured to the damage men could inflict on one another when they were feeling so inclined. Even so, she felt a bit taken aback as she contemplated the doctors and nurses working feverishly over the body of Gwen Cooper. 

She was in a coma, having lost consciousness just after the paramedics had arrived. Her face was bruised and disfigured. Her lip had been split and her nose broken. Her cheek, where it had slammed against the tarmac, was pitted with bits of gravel. According to the X-rays Felicity had viewed, her right leg was broken in at least two places and her pelvis was shattered. Her spleen had ruptured, and her liver had been lacerated. After surgery, Gwen faced months of rehabilitation therapy. If she walked again, and at this point that seemed doubtful due to the extent of the injuries to her spine, it would be with a limp. 

The captain had asked her to assess the situation and assist if she could. Felicity knew all the doctors working feverishly over Gwen. They were all good people, skilled at their chosen specialities. She had no alien technology that could tell them anything more than they already knew, nor could it repair the damage Gwen had sustained. As medical liaison they would keep her updated. Her duty now was to report to Captain Harkness, and offer what comfort she could to Gwen's grieving husband.

***

The ping of the alarm code took Mark by surprise. He'd got so wrapped up in analysing a Rift artefact, trying to keep his mind busy and off of what had happened to Gwen, that he'd nearly forgot the mystery of the massive static burst. He blinked owlishly at the monitors, perplexed, until his brain made the necessary abrupt gear shift, and then his fingers began to fly over his keyboard as he set about tracking the location of the signal. 

It cut out as abruptly as it had begun, but the hooks he'd put in the cell network had done their job. The GPS grid appeared on screen and a series of lines intersected over a map location. It wasn't exact. The towers weren't precisely located enough for that level of accuracy, but they were close. 

Mark frowned when he saw who owned the property. He wondered what the boss would say when he found out.

***

"I want a team out there. Now." 

"Surveillance?" Andy suggested hesitantly. He wasn't one to question orders, but the captain was still torn up over Gwen, and it was clear he wasn't thinking straight. 

"If they're getting ready to use the puzzle box, there's bound to be security." Bless Ianto for his level head. Andy shot him a look of pure gratitude, because whatever reprimand he was about to receive died on Jack's lips.

"I've got more bad news," Mark said as he looked up from his laptop. "Signal analysis has identified an encrypted carrier wave in the last blast of static. The most likely reason is the Dra'switch have already been contacted."

"It ties with those bloody love yourself rallies." Andy felt sick at the thought an invasion force might already be on its way. "It's the proof they need the planet is willingly giving up its sovereignty. If their next transmission is images of stadiums full of willing slaves, the Dra'switch will take them at their word."

"Damn." Mark and Andy swore simultaneously.

"No kidding." Jack paced restlessly.

"Can't we stop the them?" Max asked. "Revoke their permits? Call in a terrorist threat?" 

"That's a good idea," Ianto said. "But we've only got authority in the UK. SCE is a global movement. There are ten major events scheduled in the EU alone, hundreds in the Americas, and we're still trying to get estimates from Asia and Africa." 

"Two problems." Jack raised a finger. "One: we don't know what triggers they've implanted. People might show up even if we cancel their party." A second finger joined the first. "Two: we can't risk letting the SCE know we're on to them. Our plans might get leaked if we take this outside of Torchwood. That means no assistance from UNIT or any other government agency." He pushed a hand through his fringe, his frustration plain for all to see. "All right. Andy, pull Bess and Lucas in on this. Get me a situation report and do it quick. Where are Alf and Mara?"

"Their team wrapped their assignment and left Snowden this morning." Andy scowled. "The mysterious lights and noises were some alien kids having a laugh at the expense of the tourists. They've had a telling off and were sent on their way."

Jack gave him a brief, approving nod and turned his attention to Mark. "We need a backup plan in case a direct assault fails." Mark nodded back and then Jack regarded each of them in turn, his face as grim as death. "Whatever it takes. We can't let the Society contact the Dra'switch."

***

Bess contemplated the rolling lawns, the high walls, and more troubling, the squads of security guards and their dogs through a pair of field glasses. "Damn. That place is a fortress." 

They were only a few miles out of town, but they may as well have been transported through time. The mansion at the centre of the foreboding grounds was about as welcoming as a Victorian workhouse. Just looking at the hewn stone walls and barred windows made her shiver. "There's no way we're going to just slip in unannounced." 

Lucas handed her a copy of an aerial surveillance map. "Look at all those outbuildings. This Dra'switch gadget could be in any of them." 

Bess regarded his pale, nearly nondescript features. "Do you suppose we can risk sending in a drone? Some energy signature data would go a long way to figuring where our target is." 

Lucas didn't reply. Instead, he flipped open a highly sophisticated device that looked remarkably like a smart phone, but wasn't, and ran a series of scans. "There's nothing there we can't spoof. What are you thinking? Find the alien energy source, find the puzzle?" 

Bess nodded. From her field kit she extracted a small silver ball and held it in her palm. "Have a shifty, and then come home, my pet," she whispered softly and then held her hand aloft. 

The drone hovered in front of her for a moment and then sped away. 

Lucas gave her a sour look. "That's alien technology, and it's imprinted on you. Don't you find that a bit … creepy?"

Bess shrugged back at him. "At the moment, I'm finding it bloody convenient. Getting onto those grounds under these circumstances isn't a job I'd exactly relish. Would you?" She lifted an eyebrow and then tipped her head towards where they had concealed the car. "Come on. I'd rather wait out of the damp. Damn the weather anyway. It looks like we're in for another wet night." 

With one last backwards glance, Lucas followed. "Why do they call this place Burning Hollow?" 

"Bit of a story there." Bess resettled her plaits over her shoulder before plunging her hands deep into her jacket pockets to warm them. "The first Rhys-Mitchell, this goes way back before they acquired the pretentious surname, was a shepherd. He married his neighbour's daughter and his new father-in-law gave the happy couple a piece of land to get them started. One day his flock strayed out of their pasture into the woods. When he went to round them up, he saw smoke rising and followed it to its source. Lightning had struck a tree and it was the remains of the fire he'd seen."

Lucas made a hand signal Bess interpreted as "Speed it along."

"It started to rain, hard. So that first Rhys-Mitchell took shelter with his lambs in a cave. Inside, he found a rich vein of coal just waiting to be dug from the earth. The poor shepherd founded a line of rich coal barons, and his grandson named his estate in commemoration of the event that started it all." 

"Lucky bastards," Lucas replied.

The car was in sight. He thumbed the key fob and the thump-chunk of the unlocking door had him scowling again. Or perhaps it was the sound of her pet. Bess held out her hand and the alien probe landed in her palm.

"We make our own luck." She stroked the little orb fondly, got into the car, and then unfolded the aerial map of the estate flat onto her lap. The orb hovered near the rear view mirror, orientating itself, and then landed squarely in the middle of one of the smaller buildings.

***

"Idiot!"

Myfanwy leapt from her perch in response to Mark's outraged cry and her scream echoed across the Hub. Jack jumped to his feet and ran out of his office, down the catwalk, and to the side of his chief technician. 

"What is it?" he demanded. "What's wrong?" 

Mark took a breath, trying to regain his self control. It was clear that a combination of fatigue and stress had pushed him dangerously close to his limits. When he finally looked up at Jack it was with disbelief. 

"I'm so sorry, boss. I got so caught up in the big picture I totally missed what's right in front of me. I can't believe I've been so stupid!" 

Jack put his hand on Mark's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. "It's okay. Just tell me what you're thinking." 

Mark snatched up a notepad and pen. He made a quick sketch of a box and then added a pair of arrows, one facing towards it, and one radiating up from the top. "This is our black box. The alien transmitter. This arrow here," he pointed at the one with the head facing inward, "is the video feed from the global rallies. And this one," he pointed at the final arrow, "is the one that signals the Dra'switch. With me so far?" 

"Sure." What Mark had sketched was a simplistic distillation of the scenario. But it wasn't an answer to Jack's question. 

"Okay. This is where I lost the plot." He pointed at the incoming arrow once more. "How are they getting all those feeds into the box? It's not magic. It's not Dra'switch technology. They're going to use some flavour of broadband protocol to get the signal from the various venues to that estate. We cut off the pipelines, and they have nothing to transmit."

Jack stared at the sketch, seeing it in a new light. "Rhys-Mitchell is a survivalist. He'll have multiple backups." 

Mark shrugged. He put the notepad aside and pulled up a map of Burning Hollow. Several keystrokes later, every cell tower and fibre junction box that serviced a ten mile perimeter was delineated on the map. "Say 'when' and it all goes dark." 

Jack smiled, all teeth and no mirth. That was half the problem solved. And he knew exactly how to handle the rest.

***

"They say it's retrograde amnesia." Rhys kept his gaze squarely on Gwen as he spoke. His voice was flat, as if he were just repeating the doctors' words. "She doesn't remember the accident. Or much of anything else really. The last few years are gone. Erased. Even our wedding. The last thing she remembers is trying to break up a bar fight. Christ, Jack." 

"Rhys." Jack could feel the misery radiating off the other man, and knew without him saying, that he was still being held responsible. "I'm so sorry." 

Rhys did look at him then, and his expression was cold and closed. "I don't want your pity. I'm grateful, really. It makes what I have to say easier. You can fix it so she doesn't get her memory back. I know you can. Gwen told me that's what you do when people see things they're not supposed to. You give them a drug and make them forget. Well, I want Gwen to forget Torchwood."

"Rhys – " Jack understood. He really did. He'd felt this way himself more than once. "That's not my call to make." 

"No," Rhys replied. With every word his self control seemed to slip a few more degrees. "By rights, it should be hers. But I'm her family, Jack. It's down to me. I nearly lost her. The doctors say it's a miracle she's alive. Do you understand?" 

Anger seemed to make Rhys, already a large and often passionate man, seem even larger and more aggressive. Jack took an involuntary step sideways in case he needed the room to manoeuvre away from a swinging fist. 

In an instant, Rhys' anger dissipated and he became soft-spoken again, but there was still an intentness to his voice that caused Jack's breath to catch in his throat. "You might be responsible for protecting the planet, Jack, but _she_ is _my_ world, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep her safe, even if it means getting down on my knees and begging this of you." 

Jack swallowed the lump that had grown in his throat and gave a curt nod. He had always known that he'd lose Gwen. But he'd figured that eventually they'd cross some invisible line and she would walk away of her own volition. Knowing how proud Rhys was of his wife's service, this scenario had never entered his mind. "You can't stay in Cardiff. There are too many reminders." 

"That's not a problem. I have family up north. We'll relocate. When Gwen's stronger, we can move to Canada or Australia and make a fresh start." 

He'd never see her again. One more person he loved would pass out of his life. "I'll think about it." Jack couldn't bear to see her like this, swathed in bandages, pale and still. He tried to think back on happier times, but the memories wouldn't come. "I'll think about it." Abruptly, he turned on his heel and bolted down the corridor.

***

Saturday dawned with a clear sky and prospects for comfortable temperatures. The rain had once again moved out of the forecast and the radio weather presenter extolled all of those listening to "Be the best you you can be." 

Ianto sighed and muted the channel. Despite the early hour when he'd left his flat, he could see signs his neighbours were up and getting ready to attend the SCE event at the Millennium Centre, and Torchwood wasn't going to lift a finger to stop them. 

It was a bloody nightmare. 

Now as he helped Felicity and Dev load supplies into the SUV, he wondered if their plan, hatched in the last desperate hours, would be enough. 

They had a goal. Stop the Society from contacting the Dra'switch. They had a plan. It was simple. It was audacious. And because of the risk of a breach from a compromised outsider, it was all down to Torchwood.

***

Even though the festivities wouldn't start for hours, traffic was already converging on Mermaid Quay. Andy stood on the invisible lift watching as the Plass filled, and the hum of excited conversation filled his ears. The area nearly vibrated with energy from the crowd.

In its way, it was a beautiful thing to watch strangers smile and hug and laugh together. It made a change from the usual display of people so wrapped up in their tiny lives they never saw what was going on right in front of them. But Andy could find no joy in it. He keyed the lift and descended. A cold, joyless smile played over his lips. It was nearly time for him to be the best Andy he could be. And if he was lucky, the citizens of Cardiff could go back to being their old, insular selves, and never know they'd dodged another calamity.

***

Mark adjusted his head set and made one last check of all the systems. Comms were live. Every team was in place. And the clock was counting down. 

The world was in peril, and Torchwood was ready. 

"Communications. Go." His voice was terse as he shut down the cellular network towers that serviced Burning Hollow.

***

A quarter mile from the estate, Ianto blew up the trunking station and cut off the landlines. A half a dozen cottages would lose their phone service, but under the circumstances, it was a small price to pay. Job done, he got behind the wheel of the SUV. His work was just beginning.

***

"Aerial. Go."

***

Jack made a minor course correction and dove sharply. The planet hopper wasn't a fighter, but she was game and took his rough handling like a trooper. The targeting controls he'd wired in late the night before juddered and then locked on to a small stone outbuilding on the Burning Hollow estate. 

He held his breath and then let it out slowly again as the countdown indicator chimed a ten second warning. One chance. One shot. He wasn't sure the plasma cannon would give him any more than that. But if he got it right, one shot was all he really needed. 

Eight seconds.

Seven seconds.

His palms began to sweat under his gloves. Jack flexed his fingers.

Six seconds.

Five seconds. 

Four seconds. 

Jack took another breath and tried not to think what would happen if the Dra'switch received the Society's welcome. 

Three seconds. Jack began to empty his lungs.

Two seconds. He disengaged the safety.

One...

He jammed the button hard on the fire control and counted ten again as he pulled up and began his sweep of the estate's perimeter. Far below, the stone building housing the Dra'switch puzzle box blew into thousands of shards, guaranteeing no one would ever use the device again.

***

Back at the Hub, Mark typed a few more keystrokes isolating the estate from the power grid. They had backup generators, but it would take precious minutes to get them online.

"Lockdown. Go."

***

Andy exchanged a tense glance with Stuart and Mara, and simultaneously all three of them blew the charges that brought down a large section of the high stone wall that guarded Burning Hollow. 

Time seemed to dilate as rubble rained down. A chip of rock stung as it caught his cheek. He ignored the pain and waved his team into action. They yanked masks into place and ran forward.

Efficient looking security guards burst out of a what appeared to be a garden shed. Dev threw an anaesthetic gas grenade and they went down without getting off a shot. 

Felicity and one of the reservists dropped out of Andy's line of sight as they stayed behind to secure their prisoners. 

Ahead of them, the big house loomed.

***

"Stadium feed. Go."

Mark flipped a final switch and on the monitor beside him Max appeared on the screen and greeted the thousands caught up in the Society's plan.

"Welcome to the rest of your life!" He opened his arms outward as if encompassing all who saw him in a giant hug and began to address the crowd with a speech they hoped would countermand the NLP hooks the Society had embedded in their adherents' psyches.

"Preach it, brother," Mark said to the screen before cutting the sound and turning his attention to the clean up operation at the Rhys-Mitchell estate.

***

The hopper landed smoothly on a wide expanse of lawn. A moment later Jack emerged. He watched with grim satisfaction as a plume of smoke rose from the building he’d flattened. 

People were being led at gun point and corralled in a processing area for debriefing. An intense wash of pride made him swallow hard as he watched his agents at work. 

Ianto jogged towards him. 

"Any trouble?" 

Ianto shook his head. "We found Mrs Parkhurst in the television studio still giving her speech." 

"How many casualties?" 

"As far as we can determine, there was just one. Rhys-Mitchell wanted the honour of throwing the switch. He was in the building when you blew it up." 

Jack tipped his head towards the ranks of prisoners. "What about them?" 

"Preliminary questioning suggests we've taken the upper rank of the Society, on hand for the festivities, and the rest are staff. A property this size is quite an undertaking."

"They're traitors to the planet." Jack's tone was harsh and he knew it, but he was still angry. "There was a time Torchwood would have dealt with them accordingly."

"They're fools and idealists," Ianto countered. "And as far as I'm aware, neither one of those is a capital crime. At least not yet, sir."

Jack gave him a curt nod. "Sort out who's who. Detailed interrogations. I don't want some muckity muck wriggling out of this by pretending to be a parlour maid. You brought plenty of retcon?" 

"Yep." Ianto pointed at a white tent-like enclosure. "Felicity and Dev have set up the debriefing station." He glanced back at the burgeoning queue. "We could use some help."

Jack scowled in reply, but he squared his shoulders and marched with military precision to carry out his obligations.

***

"Let me do this." 

Jack looked over at Ianto. They were the first words he'd spoken since they'd left the Hub. 

They were both dressed in scrubs, although Jack wore a lab coat over his because he was the one pretending to be a doctor. Ianto held the tray containing the syringe of high dose retcon. Felicity had prepared the drug, it was his job, his duty, to administer it and give the instructions that would remap Gwen's memory and set her life on a new course. 

Jack had spent a great deal of time with Rhys over the last week. He had learned things, a great many things, about Gwen he hadn't known. Because Gwen was stubborn, Jack knew that she wouldn't leave the mystery of her missing years alone. It was vital to give her some memories, happy bits and pieces, so she wouldn't dig into the time she had lost. 

When it became necessary, Rhys would fill in the rest. Jack trusted him never to bring up 'Torchwood' or 'aliens' or their life in Cardiff. Ever. Not that Gwen would have much time to look backwards. Mending her broken body and recovering her strength would be a long, difficult journey. But knowing her tenacious spirit, Jack had no doubt that she would be up on her feet much sooner than the doctors predicted. 

He gave Ianto a tight smile and gripped his shoulder, drawing strength, as he often did in times of crisis, from the small intimacy. "Thank you. But no. I brought her into Torchwood. It's my duty to see this through." 

He pulled his mask into place and together they entered Gwen's room on the isolation ward. 

Gwen was drowsing. That made it easier. She regarded him curiously as he adjusted the feed of her I.V. and then injected the retcon. He sat at the bedside, wishing he could take her hand. Ianto fell into his accustomed place at his shoulder and Jack was grateful for his presence.

He took a deep breath as he both damned and thanked the Time Agency for giving him the means to do what he was about to do, and began to speak, invoking a technique he'd developed because of their inherent cruelty and his own missing years. 

"Good bye, Gwen Williams," he whispered softly when he had finished. Jack rose from the chair, exhausted and drained, and let Ianto lead him out a service exit, as he tried not to think about how much he already missed her.

***

"The Crown has awarded us Burning Hollow. For services rendered to a grateful nation." Jack stared out to sea, sharing the news had exhausted his inclination to speak.

"It will make an excellent secondary Hub," Ianto replied. It was clear his mind was on something else besides work and he was making an effort to sound enthused about the news for Jack’s benefit. "Rhys-Mitchell made quite a number of innovative improvements to the estate."

They lapsed back into silence. Jack could feel Ianto's eyes upon him, and had the sense he was nerving himself up to ask something uncomfortable. 

"Have you ever considered retconning me? Out of Torchwood, I mean." 

Jack knew the question was coming, although he hadn't anticipated the timing, proof he was still way off his game. From the hospital, Ianto had driven them straight to the marina, and Jack hadn't offered an argument as he cast off the _One Day_ and piloted her out to sea. They had anchored past the twelve mile limit and Ianto had taken Jack down to the crew cabin, undressed him, and let him grieve in his own way, getting lost in sex until his senses were overwhelmed and his mind quieted. 

Now they were back on deck, whiskys in hand. Ianto was looking at him expectantly, even though he probably already knew the answer. 

"Sure." Jack held his glass over the water debating whether he wanted to drink or dump it over the side. He opted to drink, and knocked the single malt back in one go, feeling its liquid fire burn smoothly down his throat. "But I couldn't do it. Not even when you hated me. There was always something about you, Ianto Jones. Even back then, I couldn't let you go." 

"And now?" 

"If I could figure a way to remap your memory and still be a part of your life, I'd do it in a heartbeat." 

"Why?" 

Jack looked over at him sharply. He studied Ianto's expression, but still couldn't tell what sort of reassurance he was seeking. "Because I don't want to give the order that gets you killed."

Ianto drained his glass, studied it for a moment, and dropped it very deliberately over the side, watching as it splashed into the sea. It was a curious thing for him to do, and it took Jack a few moments to work out the significance of the gesture.

"Your life is not disposable," Jack countered fiercely. "Not to me." 

"Nor to me." Ianto's reply was just as fierce. He seemed make a visible effort to collect himself and then he turned to meet Jack's gaze. "But to those we serve it must be, and I accept that." 

Ianto was a good and loyal soldier who understood his place in the big picture. How was it he could remind Jack of their obligations so coolly, even as he acknowledged that his life was not something he wanted to give over willingly? 

Contemplating the unyielding sea seemed less painful than any topic Jack brought to mind. They lapsed into a silence periodically broken by the sounds of a ship at rest: wavelets sloshing against the hull, pumps cycling, the deck under their feet creaking as their weight shifted with the motion of the water. Finally, Jack gripped Ianto's shoulder in acceptance of their inevitable fates, and Ianto led him back to bed.

End


End file.
